The fire crackles, throwing out its flickering orange radiance. It gives up its heat grudgingly, making those around it huddle close to enjoy its warmth. Wrapped in their cloaks and blankets, they look like low rocks where they lie snoring. An inix grumbles in the darkness.

Other fires crackle nearby, with more sleepers around them. The vague shapes of animals loom and twitch in the darkness: crodlus, like featherless, snouted ostriches, hobbled and dozing; inix, giant monitor lizards, muzzled and staked down to prevent them attacking. Meanwhile, circling slowly in the freezing night, the guards.

Keeping away from the fires so their eyes can adjust to the dark, wrapped up against the cold and breath fogging, they keep watch in small bands. While the caravan sleeps, they watch for danger coming out of the desert.

Calla:

Spoiler:

Calla's pulled the night watch again. Probably another punishment. Her parents and her uncles still don't appreciate her views on the slave trade, despite the fact it was both obviously wrong and bad for trade. Of course it has made things difficult for House Ianto, but the House has withstood worse before. Surely? And if the hushed conversations Calla has overheard mean anything, the caravan is carrying some very profitable if mysterious items that will fetch a good price when they get to Tyr.

Calla stamps her feet against the cold, and looks at the companions on her patrol. The hulking mul, Gorad, looks about intently, and she envies the boundless endurance of his race. As one of Grandma's favorites, though, she wonders if he's there to keep an eye on her. The cantankerous old buzzard might be the caravan-master for this trip, but she still seems to have problems accepting Calla is grown up now. And the enigmatic mul is a very odd and slightly unsettling nursemaid, even if he always has been friendly in the past.

Arakan the half-elf is more fun, if seemingly about as trustworthy as any other elf. He and his companion, the lame woman Irivis, joined on at South Ledopolus, claiming to have arrived on another caravan. Both are vague about their origins and life stories, which makes Calla slightly suspicious. Neither seems entirely comfortable out in the desert, despite their previous experience.

But they are the epitome of wilderness-craft compared to Jareen. Claiming to be a follower of the Way, he hired on at the last minute in Balic. But he seems very unsuited to the rigours of the desert, with his soft hands and slight paunch, and seems to be finding the trip heavy going. Again, like the others, he seems reluctant to discuss his past.

This could be a long night.

Gorad:

Spoiler:

Gorad looks out into the desert night, watching for danger. He notices the cold but simply shrugs it off. Not only is he responsible for the safety of the caravan, but the caravan-master has also tasked him on this particular occasion to keep an eye on her idealistic granddaughter, Calla. Grandma (if she ever had a name beyond that, it seems to have been lost in time) might be a crabby old crone, and a shrewd and ruthless merchant, but she also keeps an eye on her family. Calla's enthusiasm for the abolition of slavery may not be very popular in a House that was built upon it. But Grandma still has a soft spot for the girl. And ever since Gorad saved the life of Calla's uncle, he has been Grandma's unofficial eyes and ears. She trusts him as he's the only one not vying to take her place.

As for the other three, Gorad withholds judgement for the moment. The half-elf and human woman who joined at South Ledopolus, Arakan and Irivis, he doesn't know well, but they both seem unhealthily secretive. They joined on at South Ledopolus, claiming to have arrived on another caravan. Arakan is friendly enough, but his elven heritage does little to reassure. Irivis is lame, leaning on a stick. Both are vague about their origins and life stories and neither seems entirely comfortable out in the desert, despite their previous experience.

But they are the epitome of wilderness-craft compared to Jareen. Claiming to be a follower of the Way, he hired on at the last minute in Balic. But he seems very unsuited to the rigours of the desert, with his soft hands and slight paunch, and seems to be finding the trip heavy going. Again, like the others, he seems reluctant to discuss his past.

This could be a long night.

Jareen:

Spoiler:

Why didn't they say it would be so cold?

Jareen stares glumly into the night and not for the first time curses his misfortune. Why did Saela's father have to come home just at that particular moment? Why did he have to be one of the most powerful templars in Balic? And why did he have to be a raging, murderous lunatic when it came to his daughter's honour?

And why, exactly, did Jareen ever pursue the brazen Saela, knowing all these things? He sighs, and looks into the darkness. At least he had been able to pull some strings with the Veiled Alliance, otherwise he'd probably be in the arena in a loincloth fighting off some terrible beast with a toothpick. Even if the Alliance are a somewhat humourless crowd, he always sympathised with their aims to eliminate the damage done by defiling magic, even as a templar. Plus he quite fancied the sister of the Balic cell's leader. In any case, his occasional assistance meant they were willing to smuggle him out of town and on to the first caravan out.

Bloody sands, but it's cold! It was never like this in Balic, where he had slaves to cater to his whims and do the drudge work. Why does he always get night duty anyway?

He looks about him at his companions on this patrol. The girl, Calla, seems quite sweet if naïve - always prattling on about how great the abolition of slavery is in Tyr. Given that this is a House Ianto caravan, and that House Ianto were some of the biggest slave-traders in the Tyr Region before the revolution, and that Calla is herself a child of House Ianto, perhaps her unwise enthusiasms have led her to draw this uncomfortable duty.

The mul, Gorad, on the other hand, keeps looking at him. Does he know anything? Jareen has held off any casting so far, so as not to be lynched as a defiler - oh, the irony! - but that mul seems to look through him. He also seems close to the family running the caravan, especially that old bag, "Grandma". Jareen had been grateful when Grandma had hired him, but she seems to delight in giving him the most uncomfortable duties going. The arena seems almost preferable. Almost.

And the other two - the half-elf Arakan, and the lame human woman Irivis, seem to have secrets of their own. They are friendly enough, hiring on a few days ago at South Ledopolus after leaving another caravan. But if they don't want to talk about where they have come from, that's fine by him. He doesn't want to talk about himself either.

This could be a long night.

Irivis:

Spoiler:

Irivis shivers in the cold. She peers into the desert dark but her mind is on other things. Soon, if the spirits of the wastes are willing, she will be back in Tyr. A changed place now Kalak is gone and slavery abolished. Changed, but without her help. She wonders how her former revolutionary friends will receive her, given her sudden flit just as the going got tough. But if she's going to live anywhere, it will be in free Tyr.

She glances at Arakan, her companion on the way from Balic. They met on another caravan but left it at South Ledopolus as it unexpectedly headed back to Balic. So they hired on to the next one, belonging to the Tyrian House Ianto. The woman running it, "Grandma", is a leathery old bag of ruthlessness if ever there was one, but seemingly fair - and heading in the right direction. Irivis is heading home, but Arakan seems to be escaping Balic. It's his business - both of them nursing their secrets.

Grandma's granddaughter, Calla, is also on this patrol. She's a sweet young thing, and very caught up with revolutionary fervour, always talking about how Tyr is better with the ending of slavery. Given how House Ianto was the biggest slave-trading house in Tyr before Kalak's fall, perhaps that explains her uncomfortable duties here on the night watch.

A hulking presence in the night is the mul, Gorad. He also seems close to the family running the caravan, keeping a close eye on Calla, athough his history is unclear.

And then there is Jareen. Claiming to be a follower of the Way, he was already with the caravan when Irivis and Arakan hired on. But he seems very unsuited to the rigours of the desert, with his soft hands and slight paunch, and seems to be finding the trip heavy going. He also seems reluctant to discuss his past.

This could be a long night.

Arakan:

Spoiler:

Arakan shivers in the cold. He peers into the desert dark but his mind is on other things. Soon, if the spirits of the wastes are willing, he will be in Tyr. Which is good, because it isn't Balic. Hopefully he can disappear from view and make a new start, in a city where former slaves abound and a man can make a name for himself.

He glances at Irivis, his companion on the way from Balic. They met on another caravan but left it at South Ledopolus as it unexpectedly headed back to Balic. So they hired on to the next one, belonging to the Tyrian House Ianto. The woman running it, "Grandma", is a leathery old bag of ruthlessness if ever there was one, but seemingly fair - and heading in the right direction. Irivis is heading home, being from Tyr, but seems preoccupied by the prospect. It's her business - both of them nursing their secrets.

Grandma's granddaughter, Calla, is also on this patrol. She's a sweet young thing, and very caught up with revolutionary fervour, always talking about how Tyr is better with the ending of slavery. Given how House Ianto was the biggest slave-trading house in Tyr before Kalak's fall, perhaps that explains her uncomfortable duties here on the night watch.

A hulking presence in the night is the mul, Gorad. He also seems close to the family running the caravan, keeping a close eye on Calla, athough his history is unclear.

And then there is Jareen. Claiming to be a follower of the Way, he was already with the caravan when Irivis and Arakan hired on. But he seems very unsuited to the rigours of the desert, with his soft hands and slight paunch, and seems to be finding the trip heavy going. He also seems reluctant to discuss his past.

Arakan swaggers up to Irivis, not that he has anything to swagger about, as much as not knowing how not to swagger. Trying to break the silence, mainly for his own comfort, he addresses the one person most would consider his friend. "So, is it just me or every time we stop for the night, do you expect a pack of lizards to attack the caravan?" He follows it with a nervous chuckle, and glances around dartingly, like he was more serious than joking.

EDIT: Aubrey, for some reason when I see that avatar it makes me think of the character Clint Howard played on Star Trek, Balok

Irivis contemplates the night serenely, her face masked by her habitual veiling and wonders about her future. "Free Tyr" awaits, bringing a golden glorious age according to young Calla. Well, maybe. She doubts very much that life will change greatly for the majority of the population. Borderline is borderline, whoever controls it. Still, she was part of the revolution for a time.

She allows a wry smile to play across her invisible features as she considers Calla's response to the news that she has a ex-revolutionary among her caravan guards. Gorad was also unlikely to thank her for encouraging Calla's romantic thoughts on revolution. The mul seemed to be acting as some kind of discreet bodyguard - probably placed there by Grandma. The old lady was shrewd enough.

It might be amusing to tell Calla about her revolutionary past and watch those wide eyes open with interest, but it would lead to far too many questions. Much better to say nothing. Like Arakan she has secrets to keep.

Arakan remains an irritating mystery. Irivis is honest enough to realise that one of the reasons she finds him so very annoying is the recognition that his weaknesses match her own. She had watched him before and would watch him now. He would run nowhere with her eye on him - and she would not run with his on her. Despite herself, she found herself admiring his false bravado and liking the way he made her laugh in spite of herself.

As for Jareen - he was a worry. Popping out of nowhere, no type of guard at all, no reason to be there. None of it made sense and things that far out of place were suspicious.

At Arakan's approach, she smiles to herself. Who watches the watchers?

Jareen rubs his hands, stamps a foot, and coughs as though it were 10 degrees colder even than it is. Or maybe as though he were 10 years older even than he is. He peers off into the distance, trying to pretend not to notice the conversation of the others, and jumping at every little noise.

It never got this cold back in Balic. The stifling, dry heat of the day was captured by the buildings, and slowly released into the evening. Jareen had loved walking close by the stone walls, feeling the heat radiate out. By the time real cold had enveloped Balic, Jareen was always curled up under the skins of someone's bed.

Eventually he sidles up towards Calla, hoping for a little more warmth near another body. "Do you have something to put the warmth back into a man's bones, Calla? I don't think I've ever been this cold."

At least the stars are bright tonight. Always coldest on these clear nights, but that's what we need to see the stars. Call tries to look for the good in what will be another long cold watch. Maybe she shouldn't have shouted at Uncle Jorik, but he was so infuriating, starting on about how the nobles of Tyr would soon come to their senses and put 'those scum' back in shackles. Aargh!

So here she was, night guard, again. Looking out over the shifting sands, on watch for -- she shifts suddenly, like a startled sand-lizard, as the soft presence of Jareen appears beside her. Calla looks at him for a moment, then replies practically, "I imagine a brisk walk round the camp would warm you up. And really, if you haven't seen Gruma about better clothes by now... Just spend the coin already!"

A quick step to the side, and she is facing out into the night again. Not quite turning her back on Jareen, but making it clear that she's back on duty, watching for danger.

The shores of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue are now several days travel behind them, and the land here is high and rocky. The camp is in a established site by the road, a cleared space with low walls to protect from the wind and providing a crude defensible line.

Arakan looks at her quizically, "Interested in Jareen, huh? Should I give you two some time alone? As far as I'm concerned he looks like he must know someone in the House to get a caravan guard job. He doesn't exactly scream fit to fight at first glance." He looks long at the man "Maybe he knows the granddaughter, he seems to break cover every time he talks to her, because she looks irritated whenever he does."

Jokingly he turns back to Irivis, "Of course you want to keep moving, I hear bum legs shrivel if you don't use them."

Perception 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

He stops suddenly and looks out to the dark around the caravan, and asks Irivis softly "Did you hear that?"

Arakan turns to Irivis, "Maybe we should circle back towards the center of camp? You know, alternate our patrolling pattern so if anything is watching we don't display established patterns." He grabs her arm and tries to hurry her inside the perimeter while drawing his hand crossbow. Periodically, he looks over his shoulder towards the sound.

Arakan is taken aback by the insinuation, "Skulk? Not in the least, Sir. I was merely ensuring that what I heard had come from the initial direction. You know how these rocks can bounce sounds around, almost deceptively." He thumbs his chin thoughtfully, before pointing. "I saw nothing, but I heard the scrape of tumbled rock, from over that way, but there's no accounting for echoes." he warns. He tosses a quick glare at Irivis for feeling the need to always call him out.

Pointing briefly at Gorad, and nodding, Arakan adds "I agree. That's what I was just thinking." He pauses reflectively, "Oh, but we don't want to just barge right in, alerting everyone to our coming. We should have a plan... How about... a few of you move towards the sound, and meanwhile I will try to circle around from the shadows? You should easily make enough noise to keep the attention of whatever may be out there, if there is anything at all." he adds the last as if the idea of something being out in the dark is purely speculation.

Calla visibly stiffens at the sound of her father's voice. What will he find fault with this time? Oh fine, just my competence, training and bravery all in one. She is about to reply through gritted teeth when, perhaps fortunately, Kevis is distracted by Arakan and the other guards.

Hearing that Arakan and Gorad agree with Joreen, Calla starts to take the warning more seriously. "I will explore. Gorad, with me? Jareen, you too? Father, do you want to start waking the camp, or wait while we investigate?" Calla tries to sound grown up and professional. It's not a bad effort, but her workds to Kevis are tinged with petulance.

Move briskly in the direction that Arakan and Gorad indicated, making no attempt at stealth. Hand on weapon at belt, shield ready.

Arakan grimaces at Irivis' offer, "I don't know how effective I'll be sneaking up on anything if I'm accompanied by someone who sounds like a three-legged crodlu when they walk." He indicates her staff and lame leg. "If you really must, though, I hope you can keep up and not give us away."

Arakan adopts a natural crouch as he begins to take a rounding path towards the direction of the sounds, especially with his benefactor watching.

Welcome to the pink deserts of Athas. Hopefully this should be reasonably self-explanatory. The red are the campfires. The green are allies: S means Sleeper, and inix and crodlu are onvious. F is Calla's father. The brown line is the wall - standing behind it povides cover. The more orangey-brown line to the east is the road. The pinky blobs to the west are difficult terrain. The dark pink and purple are enemies (there no difference between pink and purple - that's just a technical issue with doing the drawing in Excel first and importing to Google Docs). Sn is Elf Sniper. Sk is Elf Skirmisher. Crodlu Rider is hopefully obvious.

Please place yourselves on the map. You will be outside the wall, presumably near enough to F to have had the conversation but at the very beginning of heading out to check what was going on.

Calla startles as something flickers past her in the dim starlight and Kevis' voice chokes out. The world seems to crystalise into a static unmoving tapestry around her, a tableau of looming shadows and unmoving figures. Part of her mind is already planning the battle ahead, but her body, her heart, races back to the still-falling body of her father. It seems she runs between the individual motes of starshine to arrive and catch him before her companions even start to turn.

She helps her father sit leaned against the wall. One hand supports him, her other hand reaches for the caravan master's whistle hanging from his neck.

She blows short urgent notes on the whistle. Awake awake! Fear and foes! Awake.

Crunch:

Move to AL44 using Speed of Thought power.
You move in the blink of an eye, reaching your foes before they can draw their weapons.
Encounter Psionic
Free Action Personal
Trigger: You roll initiative
Effect: You move a number of squares equal to 3 + your Charisma modifier (5 squares).
Special: You can use this power even if you’re surprised.

Calla releases her father into Gorad's care with a whispered, "Please." Tearing herself away from him seems impossible, but if the raiders get inside the walls before the camp wakes, she could lose more family. I could lose everyone. The stray thought intrudes before she focuses herself, drawing on her mental training to concentrate on the battle.

Her gaze scans the ill-lit scene. Jareen is close to the enemy and, as always, reacting slowly. "Arakan, Irivis, back inside the walls. Make noise, wake the others. I'll get Jareen." Calla moves cautiously towards the elven raiders, reaching out with her mind, insisting that she and she alone is the true threat here.

Hopeful that, with all the confusion and excitement, the raiders have not yet spotted him, Arakan quickly loads his hand crossbow. He decides to go for the one obviously closest to him. He fires from his position in the shadows, thankful that hiding didn't give away the horrible shot that flew off wide into the darkness. Resigned to move back into the protection of the walls, he hurries over and hops it to drop prone beside the one female guard's father.